


scratching the surface

by bleakmidwinter



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood and Gore, Knifeplay, M/M, Murder Husbands, On the Run, Oral Sex, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Season/Series 03, Rough Sex, That's all that's here, sex and violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:53:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25043443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleakmidwinter/pseuds/bleakmidwinter
Summary: Will and Hannibal's lives on the run have slowly been becoming more rough.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 20
Kudos: 192





	scratching the surface

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Graphic Sex and Violence  
> Just an extra heads-up for anyone who needs it.

It happens three months into their sexual relationship. 

Will is used to being taken by Hannibal by now. Used to it perhaps, but not exhausted by it. His skin thrums with pleasure and his mind bubbles with anticipation even as he’s being slammed into. Hannibal has been making a habit of using him more and more like a rag doll, a plaything for his own desires. It drives Will wild. 

When they had first begun this venture into a more sexual connection, they had still been focusing on healing. Now that the wounds barely flicker with aggravation, they’ve been naturally easing into what both of them understand best; violence. 

Hannibal thrusts inside him hard and fast tonight, taking as he pleases. His face is buried in the sweaty crook of Will’s neck, his vicious gaze hidden from Will’s. Will is not entirely free from cruelty, however, feeling the pointed tips of Hannibal’s teeth scrape along the pulse point on his throat. Hannibal doesn’t halt in his pace as he bites lightly over it, moving his mouth closer to Will’s shoulder in the next second, sucking and kissing softly as he had done the first night they made love. 

The saliva cools on Will’s throat and with a soft moan, he imagines what it would have been like for Hannibal to have broken skin. If he had bled out like the Great Red Dragon, drowned in his own blood. He becomes acutely aware of how hard he is, and lets out a small sound similar to a mewl and, writhing and unable to stop the abrupt swell of pleasure these thoughts bring. 

Hannibal lets out a noise that is far too close to a chuckle, stroking a hand down Will’s side, gripping into the meat of his thigh and raising his leg high enough to change the angle of his thrusts. Will hisses, the sparks of pleasure more stark and unavoidable. 

For a victorious moment, he thinks he might have figured out a way to throw Hannibal off-guard.

He leans forward and bites hard into the thicker part of Hannibal’s shoulder. The muscles twitch, but Hannibal does not make a noise. He slows down only enough to turn his head and steadily watch the drop of blood from the incision roll obliquely down his tanned skin (the Cuban sun has been doing wonders for his complexion). 

Will shoots him a challenging glare, licking his blood stained lips, and angles his head up in invitation. Hannibal captures his mouth in his own without hesitation, tongue pushing and prodding, desperately seeking out every molecule of taste that can be had from this gesture. 

Hannibal’s thrusts shift from a steady, quick pace, to short and hard. Like a staccato repeated over and over again, until Will’s neck is craning back and he’s moaning in the way that scares him. The type of sound he’ll think about later that night and wonder how in the hell Hannibal managed to draw it out of him. 

When Will’s hands find their way into his hair, and his heels rest encouragingly on his lower hips, Hannibal grunts, a low noise. It’s rare for Hannibal to have sex with him in anything other than silence. He’s sophisticated that way, dignified even. Yet, it brings Will a startling amount of pleasure to know he can make him _sing_. 

He leans up and presses his cheek to Hannibal’s. He leaves wet kisses from his jawline to just below his ear and whispers, “I love you,” knowing how quickly it will unravel him. 

Hannibal falters in his movements only for a moment, before snaking one hand between them to circle tightly around Will’s cock. He begins pumping him at an inhuman pace, still able to keep up his thrusting without losing balance. Will could call him God-like for it, but he knows he’ll never hear the end of it. 

Will grows louder as he grows closer. He likes Hannibal to know, to be aware he’s spiraling into the white hot ecstasy of inescapability. Hannibal nods his assent, kissing Will on the lips once, before sucking a harsh bruise into his neck. Will lets out a strangled groan, mindlessly scratching his nails down Hannibal’s back, a brutal movement done out of pure need. Hannibal tightens his grip on his cock and Will jolts, multiple times as he’s undone and covers Hannibal’s hand in his release.

Hannibal grunts again, a breathier sound, and fills him with a sigh. They twitch together, covered in sweat and come and surrounded by an air of enchanting endorphins. 

Will’s breath catches in his throat as he tries to level out his breathing. He’s always heaving after they’re finished, drawing in too much air. It’s more suffocating than not. Hannibal slides off of him, too respectful for what he is.

Will examines his nails as Hannibal disappears into the bathroom. Blood stains the white tips of the nail beds, and he notices belatedly he hasn’t clipped them in a while.

“Hannibal,” he calls softly when Hannibal is just returning with a towel.

Hannibal looks him in the eyes as he cleans both of them off with the warm cloth. It takes him a moment to notice Will’s nails. His head tilts minutely. 

“You must have broken skin,” He notes.

Will still feels light-headed from his orgasm, eyes glossy with tears that never came. He makes an aborted movement, gesturing for Hannibal to turn around and he does. 

It takes a moment for Will to disregard the faded Verger brand that still fills the pit of his stomach with something akin to malice, but when he sees the dark red scrapes accompanying it, he can’t help the small gasp that escapes his lips. 

“I did not feel it,” Hannibal says, seemingly unsure how to respond to Will’s reaction. 

“I didn’t mean to scratch so deep,” Will mutters, running a finger through the blood of one scar he left. If it hurts, Hannibal doesn’t show it. He brings the blood to his mouth, reveling in the iron warmth of it. It stings his lips and tongue mildly. 

It takes Will a moment to realize Hannibal is staring at him with glazed over eyes. He momentarily feels shy, ready to turn away and retreat to the kitchen or living room, but the more animalistic part of him wants to push Hannibal face first down onto the bed and lick his wounds clean. There is certainly something inevitable about this desire which manifests itself in his mind like sediment. 

“May I ask you to disinfect these for me?” Hannibal asks. 

Will nods after a delay. “Of course.”

Hannibal vanishes from their bedroom once more, returning with a tube of Polysporin, and a dry towel with a bin of warm water. He sits properly poised on the edge of the bed while Will cleans his wounds and rubs the antibiotic over them gently. 

This doesn’t need to be done. Will is positive they would heal without infection, but Hannibal is offering him a chance to mull over what they had created together. 

“We’ve been getting more,” Will swallows, feeling a swash of disdain for his own bashfulness, “rough.” 

“Would you prefer we stop?”

“No,” Will says instantly. 

There are a few beats of silence before Hannibal takes in a sharp breath as if Will had brushed his fingers in just the wrong way. The noise sounds more pleased than pained. 

“Would you prefer organized chaos then?” Hannibal shoots a glance over his shoulder and Will meets it with curiosity. 

“I’m unsure,” he responds, tapping Hannibal’s shoulder to signal he’s done. Hannibal turns around and a small smile forms on his lips as he takes in Will’s face.

He reaches out and brushes over the healed scar on his cheek, the one the dragon left him on the cliffside. Will leans into Hannibal’s touch, eyes fluttering shut. 

“You want to hurt me?” Hannibal asks. 

It isn’t accusatory. Will has a feeling he couldn’t hurt Hannibal if he tried. Not physically, anyway. Hannibal spoke briefly about the experience of being branded, likening it to any other simple memory he’s stored in his palace. Hannibal doesn’t think about pain, not like Will. Even if Will could hurt him, he wouldn’t want to. 

“I think I care more to mark you,” Will says in a low voice, “and to consume you, to consume with you.”

Hannibal’s eyes glisten. “Delightful,” he whispers. 

Will does feel shy now when his gaze trails up to meet Hannibal’s and he adds, “Would you desire that of me?”

“To mark you as well?”

“Yes.”

Hannibal looks down at Will’s scar from the night Abigail had died. Will knows he thinks of that night often. He’s not sure if it is out of regret or merely to reminisce. 

"Do you sometimes wish you'd been able to devour my brain?" Will asks when Hannibal remains silent for too long. He leans close, eyes flickering back and forth between his eyes and his lips. He wants to kiss him. 

"I am afraid that would have been my biggest regret," Hannibal admits, mirroring his desire. 

Will nods, understanding. 

"Would tasting me drudge up too much of the past?" He asks, inching closer, pressing his forehead to Hannibal's. Hannibal curls his fingers softly around Will's wrist and smiles.

"It would be a privilege." 

* * *

Will hates to leave the lake by the house. Hours will pass as he sits by the edge, watching tadpoles and minnow find their way through the murky water. The sun retiring behind the hills is the only indication of the passage of time.

Tonight, Hannibal beckons him in from their porch before the sun can fully retreat. Will’s mind has been spinning with anticipation for this night. He watches with a dark stare as Hannibal disappears back into their house, knowing he’ll follow. 

With only a twinge of hesitation, he gets up and makes his way to the dimly lit porch which tempts him from a silent evening in the seductive nature of Cuba. A part of him feels swept away the second he enters their house, though they first eat smoked salmon for dinner, drink champagne, and discuss politics, the successive activities of the night are on both of their minds. 

When the last drop of champagne has trickled down his throat, Wills sets his glass down and fixes Hannibal with a heavy stare.

“Show me,” he demands. 

Hannibal isn’t quite finished, but he sets his utensils down to Will’s shock. When he stands and circles around the table, Will can’t help but recall how Hannibal always finishes a meal. No matter what. Hannibal holds out an open hand which he takes, allowing himself to be led to their bedroom. 

When the door is closed, Will is violently shoved up against it, and he feels the cool, sharp edge of a blade against his throat before he sees it. He instinctively angles his head away from it, a smile cracking through his features. 

Hannibal studies him carefully, dragging the knife lightly down his throat, not hard enough to break skin, but enough so he feels how freshly _sharpened_ it is. 

Will swallows and feels the blade tighter against his skin. Hannibal draws back in the next second, allowing Will a clearer view of the weapon of choice. 

“I wanted to use a knife I already held possession of, but none of them were sharp enough for what we planned.” Hannibal looks to him with mischief in his eyes. “And I concluded new experiences require new trinkets.” 

Will cocks a brow. “You call that thing a trinket?”

It is rather large for a dagger, but not nearly the size of a sword. It still looks ape-like in Hannibal’s grip, as if one wrong move could take Will’s arm off. He suppresses a shiver at the disturbingly alluring thought. 

He tilts the knife towards Will’s face and delights in Will’s gaze following the direction of the blade carefully. Will looks back to Hannibal, and leans forward. He glides his tongue very lightly against the ridged edge of the blade. When he reaches the tip of it, he flicks his tongue hard, instantly feeling the sharp sting that accompanies this action. His mouth fills with the tangy taste of blood, and he swallows, feeling completely reborn. 

Will tries not to appear too smug when he sees just how wanton Hannibal becomes. He grabs him by the front of his shirt and drags him in for a kiss, sharing the taste of his own blood with his lover. “No lasting damage,” he promises, _reminds_. 

“No lasting damage,” Hannibal repeats breathlessly against his lips, a confirmation. 

Will momentarily forgets the knife, slotting a thigh between Hannibal’s legs and bites at his lips like a ravenous animal. He moans into the kiss when Hannibal rips his shirt open. Buttons go flying and bounce off the wood floor. 

Will feels the blade dangerously close to his throat again, and groans when Hannibal nicks the skin above his clavicle. He keeps Will’s right arm pinned to the wall as he closes in on the spilt blood before it can stain his clothes. He sucks and licks, the wound stinging and the severed nerves screaming as he groans for more. 

He closes his eyes, allowing himself to focus on Hannibal’s mouth on his neck, and where he’s grinding his clothed erection against Hannibal’s thigh. 

“Hannibal,” he moans, arm twitching where Hannibal is more than likely leaving bruises as his grip tightens. A fleeting memory of concerned citizens likening the Chesapeake Ripper to a vampire crosses his mind, and he tries not to grin.

His eyes shoot open when he feels the knife bump into his fingertips. He easily uses his free arm to grab the blade and shoves Hannibal backwards until he’s tumbling down onto the bed. Will revels in overpowering him, knowing full well Hannibal is merely allowing it. More than allowing it; Hannibal’s eyes glisten something dark and he flips onto his front far too pliant for the game they’re playing. 

Will gives a husky chuckle, no humor behind it as he grabs Hannibal’s shirt and tears through the back of it with the blade. The fabric tears easily though it is most likely expensive material. He tosses the frayed garment to the floor and collapses on top of him, gracefully biting at Hannibal’s shoulder, his ears as well. He kisses the nape of his neck before he tightens his grip on the weapon in his hand, trailing the tip of it down Hannibal’s back. 

“I want you to overpower me,” Will whispers. “I know you want to. Do it.” 

Hannibal makes a wanton, breathy sound. His shoulder blades shift beneath his skin as Will continues his journey with the blade. 

Will is mindlessly rutting against Hannibal’s ass to relieve tension as he makes a few shallow cuts beneath the brand on his back. He leans down to lick them and regrets not doing this the week prior. He tastes marvelous. He nearly forgets what he’d ordered Hannibal to do as he’s bucked off and flipped over onto his back, a pair of animal eyes staring back at him. 

Will gasps when the knife is ripped from his hand and Hannibal expertly uses it to fling the button of his pants off. The blade so close to the tip of his cock keeps him frozen in shock, a heady feeling controlling him, yet it is not so unpleasant. He tugs Will’s jeans down his hips, sliding them off with practiced ease before lurching down to press an open-mouthed kiss to his cock.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Will shouts, not expecting such suddenness. 

Hannibal spends a few moments laving Will’s twitching erection and he writhes and angles his hips up in a silent plea for more. Hannibal curls his fingers tighter around the blade and cuts shallowly below the navel. 

Will winces from the pain, the sting becoming a welcome one when Hannibal sucks at the blood that pools around his pubic hair and the pale skin of his stomach. It is almost as good as a blow job. His cock twitches in agony from being so close to an attentive mouth, and from the twinges of pain which are transforming into sharp pin pricks of pleasure. 

“Hannibal,” he says in a low voice, “ _Hannibal_.” 

He tugs at the silver hair he sees in his peripheral, encouraging and holding on for dear life as his cock is taken into Hannibal’s mouth. Most likely, it is his imagination which tells him Hannibal’s mouth is hotter from the blood, but even the thought of that being a possibility causes him to thrust up into the wet heat, out of control as he grows close to his release. He fucks his mouth with abandon. 

The knife lies forgotten on the bed sheets for now as Will’s back arches and a string of choked out expletives fall from his lips. His hips give a few more stuttered thrusts before he’s spilling into Hannibal’s throat and his limbs are turning to jelly. 

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbles, struggling to keep his eyes open. Hannibal licks his lips and smirks up at him with blood-stained teeth. The sight is nearly enough to rev him up again. Instead, he pulls Hannibal close so he can kiss him and taste himself. 

“Mmm, you taste different than me.” He kisses Hannibal deeper, and hums in approval.

“Better or worse?” Hannibal questions, searching Will’s eyes.

Will shakes his head. “Neither.” 

He leans down against the pillow beneath them, dragging Hannibal with him. He can feel his erection pressing against his naked thigh through his pants. Will reaches down to unbuckle him with one hand. He grins up at him, still riding high on post-orgasm bliss.

“You taste minty,” Will tells him, “And I taste...nutty.” 

Hannibal smiles. “A pun?” 

“Certainly not,” Will says in a mock-proper voice. He circles his hand around Hannibal’s dick and enjoys the way Hannibal’s eyes flutter and his arms give out. He lowers himself closer to Will, unable to hold up his own body weight. Will takes the distribution of weight gladly, not minding the slight ache that comes with him stretching his arm between them. 

Hannibal presses his forehead to Will’s after a minute or so, a sign that he’s close. Will kisses him, pressing back in response. 

“Did you like tasting me?” he asks in a sultry voice. 

“More than anything,” Hannibal confesses. Will is taken aback by how vulnerable he sounds when he says it. He swipes his thumb over the head of Hannibal’s cock and feels the larger man sway against him, desperate for Will to bring him to the point of no return. “Will,” he says in a sigh.

Will kisses his jawline, lips twitching up at the slight stubble he finds there. He rubs his cheek against his to feel it, moaning softly at the scrape of their skin together.

“Will,” Hannibal says again, but this time it sounds more like a request. Will speeds up the pace on his cock as he leans back to meet his eyes once more.

“Yeah?” Will asks in a teasing tone. 

“Kill with me this weekend,” Hannibal suggests outright, and it is dangerously close to begging. Immediately, Will’s pupils dilate, and his cock twitches pathetically where it is resting, spent, on his thigh. He closes his eyes and imagines it.

“Yes,” he answers finally, in pure reverence. 

Hannibal swoops in to capture his lips in a bruising kiss and thrusts once more through Will’s fist circled around him tight, before he’s covering that hand in his release. He grunts quietly, burying his face in Will’s neck as he comes down. 

Will strokes a hand down his back, forgetting the blood that has stained it.

“I’d say be careful not to stain the sheets, but it’s a bit late for that,” Will says lightly, shoving Hannibal on his back so he can drape himself halfway over his chest. 

He lets out a deep breath, settling against him. 

“I’ll buy new ones,” Hannibal promises, kissing Will’s forehead gently. 

Will would be lying if he said this isn’t his favorite part of the night, allowing the sex chemicals released in his brain to lull him into a false sense of security, allowing him to feel as if he’s floating on some distant cloud. Hannibal is always warm beside him, but not usually as sticky. 

As the endorphins begin to wear off, he can feel the new cuts on his body more vividly. He turns and they stretch and burn with the movement. 

Hannibal runs a hand up through his hair, marveling at Will in the way he does after a night out on the town, or after one of their kills, the few that they’ve shared here. He hasn’t asked in a while, Will is never one to ask first. They’ve only killed people out of necessity so far, but they both know they’re willing to kill again.

He waits, until the stag is ready to strike.

Will looks down at Hannibal, propped up on an elbow. “Do you have anybody specific in mind?” He asks. Hannibal is already reaching into the bedside drawer and pulling out his tablet he uses only for the news. 

He pulls up the LinkedIn profile of an extremely burly man. Will huddles closer to him to get a better look. His head is shaved and he looks like an ex-wrestler.

“This man is huge,” Will says in warning, which is his way of saying, _no fucking way could we overpower this guy._

"Alberto Martinez has recently broken his leg, and has been spending most of his time on a pair of crutches," Hannibal explains. 

Will's brows furrow. "Catching people at a disadvantage isn't usually your style."

"Trust me, we would still be at a disadvantage," Hannibal assures, amused.

"Then why–" 

Hannibal pulls Will’s face close and kisses him, and smiles against his lips when he pulls back. “I want to delight in bloodshed with you once more, mylimasis.” 

Will understands then. If it were an average looking fellow, they could take him out fairly easily, with barely a scratch left over. They have killed a couple times while they’ve stayed here, but Will can’t recall a moment where he’d seen more than the necessary amount of blood. He shudders, grounding himself to the grip Hannibal has him in.

“You’ve thought this out then,” Will whispers and Hannibal nods. 

The thought of being given the opportunity to see Hannibal tear into flesh once more. The thought of being able to rip through flesh with his own dagger in hand. Watching the light of life drift slowly from a man’s eyes, a man who is sure of himself and his upperhand. Memories of a moonlit night shrouded in blood resurface, the slain dragon sprawled across stone. Panting, physicality, and then dark, cold water. 

Will straddles Hannibal’s hips, leaning down to kiss him hard, shifting against him and running his hands all over his sweat sheened body to signal to him this is _exactly_ what he wants. Hannibal holds him in place with one strong arm wrapped around his back, and another hand tangles in his hair, grip tight and punishing. 

* * *

They wait three weeks. Hannibal has tracked down their hunt’s summer house only two hours away from their own, as opposed to driving four hours into the city. 

Hannibal and Will had killed twice until now. Once, to snap the neck of a witness during their escape from the United States. Twice, when they’d arrived and a man had recognized them and Hannibal had acquainted him with a swift blow to the head. It was quick, efficient. Will had enjoyed it. He’d enjoyed snapping the neck of the first man. He’s been silently itching for more ever since the Dragon, more blood and skin torn to shreds, reaped beneath his fingertips and teeth. 

A harvest. 

The man has a large backyard. They plan to carry the hunt out there, fenced off from the world. The man’s demise will be a controlled pleasure, yet reckless and indulgent. 

He is crouching under the wooden stairs of the yard, Hannibal assuring him prior to their arrival that he’d be able to lure him into the backyard and they could then strike together. Will wields a dagger, much like the one Hannibal had first gutted him with, curved and ridged. His heart pounds in his head as he waits.

All seems silent, the crickets singing their song the only noise to accompany him, until there is a muted crash, and then a very clear one as Hannibal is thrown through the sliding glass door. Will watches with his eyes peeled open as Hannibal tumbles down the wooden steps, glass shards following him like falling snow, glistening in the moonlight, moving on all fours as soon as he lands.

He and Will lock eyes and Will is on the move like a spider in its web.

The large man is hobbling down the stairs, almost prepared to remove his cast as it seems he can move steadily and with force. 

Will wastes no time as he plunges the sword into the man’s back, tugging it as he darts to the right. A string of flesh follows him as he jerks away from the swerving, bellowing man who is flinging around to try and grab at the wound.

The howls of pain cause a sharp, heated feeling to jolt down Will’s spine and he waits as Hannibal pounces on top of him, ripping an ear off in his attack, before he joins him helping Hannibal push him to the ground. 

Will tastes blood before he’s pushed off and thrown nearly halfway across the yard. He hits a jutted rock and cries out, curling in on himself for an instant. His vision goes fuzzy momentarily but he can see Hannibal react violently, using a spare knife he always keeps in his sock to make a deep, precise incision in his belly. 

The man writhes as he screams and manages to punch Hannibal and knock him over. 

This pushes Will into motion as he stumbles over, adrenaline pushing him all the way. The man sees him coming and turns to take him, but Hannibal’s cuts were perfect and his guts begin to spill out of his belly, plopping to the ground with a sloshy noise. The man is reaching out a shaking arm, fear finally finding its rightful place in his eyes. 

Will’s expression is wide and satisfied, something feral, not quite a grin. Hannibal is reaching into the open gut of the man, pulling out the small intestine as their victim moans and lies weakly on the floor, twitching as his organs are harvested. When Hannibal tugs it completely out, the man’s eyes are fluttering closed, his skin pale as the moon as the life drains. 

Will is heaving like he does after sex, and he is startled when Hannibal tosses the small intestine around him, dragging him close with it. 

Satisfied with his partner’s proximity, Hannibal drops the organ and kisses Will over the man’s dead body. His mouth tastes tangy and warm, and Will grabs Hannibal’s shirt to keep him in place so he can greedily take what they earned.

“His light is fading, yet it is not gone,” Hannibal says, panting. “Would you do the honor, Will?”

Will takes Hannibal’s dagger and then Hannibal’s hand, intertwining their fingers together over the handle of it. It’s slippery, and perfect.

“Together,” he whispers. Hannibal’s eyes are wide with adoration, and they point the blade down together, slicing cleanly across his throat. Will chuckles darkly when he sees the man’s eyes flash open once more. Beautiful. 

Hannibal is tackling him to the ground in the next second, and Will moans when he immediately reaches for his dick, palming him through his pants. Will already has an erection, the adrenaline of the kill usually giving him that sort of a kick. 

“You are irresistible,” Hannibal mutters, grinding down, and keeping Will pinned to the wet grass. Will leans up to kiss him again, moaning into his mouth when he grinds down once more, desperate for it. 

“I need you inside me,” Will begs, trying to wrap himself around Hannibal to keep him trapped, to somehow magically force him inside. His body aches for it.

Hannibal is up on his feet in seconds and dragging him into the man’s house. Will follows him, their victim forgotten and rotting in his own putridity. 

When inside, Hannibal picks Will up like he weighs no more than a milk carton and places him on the kitchen counter as he scavenges the room for olive oil or something equally usable. Will’s pants are off when Hannibal is done washing his hands of the man’s blood and returns to his side. He drags Hannibal as close as he can while still giving him room to finger him open. He goes fast and hard, scissoring him open like he’s got somewhere else to be. It has Will’s head thrown back, gripping at the cabinets above his head. In a moment of hysteria, he’s certain he hears the cabinets creak as if they could come crashing down on both of them. As if that would stop them. 

When he’s barely got three fingers inside of him, Will rips Hannibal’s hand out and tugs his cock out of his pants. For once, Hannibal doesn’t argue and Will is glad for it. They’re past the point of niceties. Hannibal coats his cock in the oil and shoves into him in one movement. For a second it feels as if he’s been stabbed, and he groans loud, gripping wildly at Hannibal’s shoulders and hair, and the cabinets and countertop. He feels as if he could topple over and fall into an inescapable pit. 

The pain is shockingly scarce as Hannibal begins thrusting, Will thinks it’s half adrenaline, and half because he wants to feel the pain. A part of him wants Hannibal to hurt him, he’s sure a part of him has always wanted that. “ _Harder_ ,” he shouts, eyes closed and focusing on Hannibal’s cock driving into him, brushing hard against his prostate. His toes curl and he can’t help but crack a coy smile when he hears Hannibal grunting with effort, quickening his pace and giving Will exactly what he wants.

“Mine,” Hannibal says in a low voice, dark and threatening just before his teeth latch onto a sensitive part of Will’s neck, drawing blood and sucking it out of him like a creature of the night. Will yells, unsure himself if it is anything coherent. 

“Yours,” he replies out of breath, feeling heat coil in his belly, the familiarity of it shocking him back into the reality of the moment. He pushes Hannibal off of him, shoving him to the ground before straddling his hips and lining up Hannibal’s cock to his throbbing hole once more. Hannibal lurches up, resuming a punishing pace from where he’s pinned to the ground. “God, Hannibal, _fuck_ , nothing else, _nothing else_.” 

He’s not forming full sentences, but he knows Hannibal understands. He feels those hands in his hair, tugging and asking and he’s leaning back down to kiss him as they slow down for only a moment, grinding and breathing heavily into each other.

Hannibal jolts forward, pushing Will onto his back onto the hard tile floor. He grunts in delayed pain and the noise turns into a choked out moan as this position drives Hannibal’s cock deeper inside. 

“Hannibal,” he moans, wrapping his legs around Hannibal’s back. “I’m close,” he says in a strained voice, head craned back and eyes squeezed shut as if it’ll stave off his erupting pleasure. He wants it to last forever, he wants the authorities to walk in on them marking the territory of their hunt. He wants Hannibal to crawl so deep inside of him he can’t find his way out. He wants everything. 

Hannibal hears him, because he is pressing his forehead to Will’s shoulder, repositioning himself so he can reach down and jerk Will off while slamming into him harder, quicker. Will loses himself in the moment, unsure of what he’s saying or doing, but he feels his release like a freight train crashing into him, shattering his bones, sight becoming so foggy and bright that he feels as if he’s died. 

He doesn’t notice Hannibal finishing inside of him, but he has pulled out and collapsed next to Will. After a few broken moments of silence, Will inches closer despite his body screaming at him, all nerves alight with agony. 

“Love you,” he mumbles, voice hoarse.

Hannibal smiles at him, genuinely smiles. As if he’d never felt pain in his life, as if he feels none of it now. Will knows he’d reach forward to kiss him if he could, but they’re aching and exhausted.

“We need to leave this place,” Hannibal says, and Will knows he doesn’t just mean this house. He means this country. They hadn’t exactly been discreet with this kill, and Jack is still searching. As they’re both certain he always will be, as long as he lives.

Will feels his sensibilities returning to him when he asks snarkily, “What is the furthest place from Jack Crawford?”

“Australia,” Hannibal answers. “Though, they don’t have many dogs, just kangaroos.”

Will chuckles. “I could learn to like kangaroos.” 

“May I suggest France?” Hannibal asks, staring back at him from where they lay on the kitchen floor, regaining their strength. It’s one of those moments where Will realizes the absurdity of their situation and he sardonically wonders where and when in the hell his life went wrong. He shakes the feeling off. 

France.

“Sounds romantic,” Will replies softly. 

“Only with you by my side,” Hannibal declares. He stands with a few agonized noises and reaches out his hand. “Will you come with me?”

Will stares at Hannibal’s palm and his gaze trails up to Hannibal’s slowly, with a challenge gleaming in his eyes. “Where else would I go, Doctor Lecter?”  
  


**Author's Note:**

> My middle name is "Sin" - I hope you enjoyed :)


End file.
